Ephemeral
by Shadukiam
Summary: A collection of drabbles from the tumblr drabble challenge I was doing a short while ago! There was a list of quotes, and people were instructed to send me an ask with one of the quotes and a desired pairing or the desired characters. I've put the pairing/character prompt at the top of every drabble and the quote at the bottom. Enjoy!
1. Harry & Daphne

**Prompt: Harry & Daphne with Dramione in the background.**

* * *

"Will you _shut it_ for _once_ in your ridiculous and disappointingly _lengthy_ life?" Hermione snapped at Draco, after listening to him and Ron argue about the merits of the Falmouth Falcons for what seemed like _forty years_. His latest closing argument had included a casual insult about her teeth.

He cast her a haughty look. "You have no _idea_ how lucky you are to have someone like me brightening your life up, Granger. If you get on my good side, I might even provide you with some hair care tips. You sorely need it."

Ron had to _restrain_ her from physically attacking him as she seethed, "You annoying little _ferret_!"

Harry bit back a chuckle at the scene, and felt a shoulder bump into his. He glanced to his right, his smile widening, and shifted his hand to lace his fingers around his fiancee's. The ring he'd presented her just a week prior glittered on her dainty hand like a charm.

"You think they'll _ever_ figure it out?" Daphne murmured, tilting her head towards Hermione and Draco. They were still squabbling around Ron, who was holding them both apart with a resigned expression.

He'd been unlucky enough to be caught sitting between them, or so he assumed. In reality, Harry and Daphne had quickly selected the end seats to avoid the ensuing fight. They'd just wanted to sit back, relax, and enjoy Ginny's game without having to _mediate._ "Well, I can't blame them. God knows we were pretty slow on the uptake, ourselves," he said back, still watching as Hermione threatened to throw her Butterbeer on Draco's exquisitely tailored suit.

"To be _fair_ , we were both in a relationship. Not exactly looking," she pointed out, laughing quietly.

"True," he whispered, his eyes moving towards the field. Ginny zipped past the stands, her red ponytail a banner streaming from her helmet. He stood with everyone else and roared, pumping his fists in the air as she intercepted the Quaffle.

Draco had been the first to notice his girlfriend's affinity for Potter. In a move that shocked everyone, he had simply shrugged it off, wishing her the best. Ginny had been a much tougher sell; she'd been in love with Harry since she was a kid, after all. Thankfully, after six straight months of presents, apologies, and pleading for forgiveness, she'd accepted them both back into the fold. Daphne, the Slytherin goddess she was, had patched things up admirably and they were very nearly best friends, now.

Things still got a little weird with Harry, though. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He felt it, too – that ghost of the future that could have been.

He didn't think he would have been unhappy.

But, sitting down and looking at his future wife, he found himself glad. Daphne Greengrass was an icy woman with a molten interior, like a badly microwaved frozen burrito, and he loved her with an intensity that sometimes bordered on scary. When Draco had befriended Ginny years prior, all he remembered of his interactions with Daphne was nonstop bickering and poking and cold insults.

Maybe that was just the Slytherin way. Harry glanced at Draco as he made another sharp remark about Hermione's hair. It hadn't escaped his notice that the teasing had intensified massively since Ron and Hermione had ended things just a few months prior.

He squinted at Draco from the corners of his eyes as Hermione bristled and turned to shout at him. There was a liveliness in Draco's eyes that he hadn't seen since fourth year. A spark – of _something_.

"I think he already knows," Harry whispered in Daphne's ear.

She smiled, squeezing his hand. "You know, to be honest, I think the only one that _doesn't_ know yet is Hermione. Ron looks awful sick of having to sit in the middle of their violent flirting."

"I feel a little bad for making him sit there," he admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Her blue eyes met his. "Not bad enough to switch, though, right?" she asked, her nose wrinkling. She wanted to be in the middle of it about as badly as Ron did.

"I said I felt bad, not _masochistic_."

Daphne sighed in relief and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder contentedly.

* * *

 **Quotes: None in prompt!**


	2. Theo & Hermione

**Prompt: Theo & Hermione.**

* * *

"Hey!"

Theo jumped, a fact that he was not proud of and would (as a matter of fact) deny until he was _dead_. He turned, his lips thinning a bit as he regarded his partner. He'd quite liked being an Auror, in the beginning, until he kept getting his cases assigned to her as his analyst.

She was just so _annoying_. Even know, jogging up to him with that ridiculous fluff-cloud of hair bouncing around her head like the _circus_ that it was. "Granger," he sighed through his teeth, glancing up at the ceiling as if to curse some unknown god for her existence. "I'd really appreciate it if you were to exercise some basic voice modulation when I'm on the active trail of a serial killer. I mean, if it's not _too_ much trouble."

"Why, did I startle you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit in a look that he recognized as mischief. He swallowed the urge to scowl, knowing it would only egg her on. Lately, she'd begun to act in an almost friendly way towards him, despite his constant rebuttals of such overtures. "Don't they train that out of you at Death Eater school?"

His jaw tightened a bit. "Is there a training center we could send _you_ that would eliminate your need to provide banter to every known situation?"

"Alright, Grouchy, calm down," she huffed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She pulled out a few sheaves of parchment, displaying them excitedly. "I think I've finally found the pattern. See, the killer is targeting purebloods – but only _single-child_ ones. He or she is eliminating _families_. And I think Malfoy's the next target," she added, with a curious little frown that he would have been happy to examine if he wasn't knees-deep in utter shite. Could she _possibly_ be worried about her school nemesis?

"And myself," he pointed out, maybe a _little_ miffed that a man she hadn't spoken to in _years_ was getting more of her concern than her Auror partner. Just a _little_. Maybe.

Hermione laughed. "Hey, _I'm_ with you, okay?" She shot him a wink. "Always."

* * *

 **Quotes: "I'm with you, okay? Always."**


	3. Harry & Hermione

**Prompt: Harry & Hermione.**

* * *

Now that all of his kids were out of diapers, being a single dad didn't feel quite so dreadful. Ron and Hermione had been there, of course, every step of the way, stepping in flawlessly when Lily's birth had stolen Ginny from him. He'd been too numbed by the loss to even register Ron and Hermione's break-up a year later. He wasn't sure if Ginny's absence had anything to do with it, although sometimes he wondered if it did.

Too late to ask, now. Lily was turning eleven, Ron had married Susan Bones, and Hermione had just had her second Malfoy baby, in what was probably the oddest twist of fate in Harry Potter's entire life.

He watched his best friend as she spoke, waving her hands around animatedly as she described her recent tussle with the Wizengamot after they'd tried to subvert her successful motion for Werewolf Rights. She'd won, of course. Under Lucius Malfoy's tutelage, Hermione was quickly becoming one of the most powerful people in the Ministry. And it probably only had a _little_ bit to do with that impressive Malfoy fortune at her disposal.

"You're not even listening to me," she complained, and he felt a mini-croissant bounce off his head. Blinking, he focused on her, a smile blooming on his face at her grin.

"Yes, I am," he defended. "You were saying something terribly boring and swottish, right? I think I heard, _I just read Hogwarts: A History for the eightieth time and it's still just about the finest book ever to reach print publication_."

"I'm going to smack you," she enunciated, her grin widening. Her cell phone rang in her pocket, and she dug it out, her eyes lighting up when she saw who it was. "Oh, it's Draco. Give me a moment, will you? He's getting Scorpius his first wand. You know, he wouldn't even let me go? Said it was a 'man to man' moment, whatever _that_ means," she muttered, sliding out of her chair to answer.

Harry watched her step outside, laughing at something her husband said and feeling his insides twist a little. He dropped his gaze to the mini-croissant she'd thrown at him and picked it up, turning it over in his fingers.

And he whispered to it, "You know, I think I'm in love with you. And I'm terrified."

* * *

 **Quotes: "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified."**


	4. Fred & Hermione

**Prompt: Fred & Hermione.**

* * *

"Fred," she said, tersely. Hermione had a stare that could turn just about anyone into stone. The only people it _never_ seemed to work on were Fred and Ginny Weasley. They were standing across an expanse of white. "Don't. You. _Dare_. Throw that snowba– God _damn_ it!" she hissed, sidestepping it just _barely._ It clipped her shoulder, and she scowled at him as she brushed the remnants off of herself. "You're going to regret that."

He grinned at her, and she felt her heart stutter a bit. "Wanna bet?" he said, cockily, his eyebrows bouncing as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him as she stooped down to gather snow in her hands. "I told you _no_ snowball fights, or the date was _canceled_ ," she reminded him, balling the snow up furiously with her mittens. "I shouldn't have agreed to this date to begin with. I can't _believe_ you talked me into this."

"That's just my raw sex appeal, Hermione," he said, spreading his hands to gesture at himself. He shot her a wink that made her face heat. "Can't help the fact that I'm the flame you moths are relentlessly drawn–"

He was cut off, sputtering, as the snowball pegged him square in the face.

* * *

 **Quotes: "Wanna bet?" , "Don't you dare throw that snowba- God damnit!" , "I can't believe you talked me into this"**


	5. Hermione & Luna

**Prompt: Hermione & Luna.**

* * *

"This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you've ever had," Ron told her, in a low hiss. He straightened a bit to find Luna's blonde hair in the Ministry cafeteria, and rolled his eyes. "Of course, I'm in. Because apparently I'm a _sucker_ for this nonsense."

Hermione bit her lip, leaning in to whisper, "Thank you, Ron."

"You know, it should be against the law to ask your former boyfriend to help you woo your future girlfriend," he added, squinting at her. "There _must_ be some sort of Council _somewhere_ that protects me from this indignity."

"You say that like you had dignity to begin with," she observed. "That's very interesting."

He glared at her. "That's it, I'm _not_ helping."

"You already promised, and we both know that you love a good caper," she pointed out, confidently. "Now stop sulking and practice your line. It needs to sound believable."

Ron sighed, finishing swallowing his bland bite of meatloaf. "Hey Luna, so, I found this waterfall, and I think it might have Nargles in it," he repeated, woodenly.

She made a face. "I don't know why I picked you for this. You can't act. Where's Harry?"

" _Don't_ call Harry. I'm a great actor, give me a _moment_ ," Ron defended himself, hotly. His eyes drifted over her shoulder, and he said, smiling, "Hey, Luna! So… I found this waterfall, and I _think_ it might have Nargles in it. Do Nargles infest waterfalls?"

"It's not their usual choice," came Luna's dreamy voice from behind her. Hermione stiffened, her cheeks going a little pink. "But perhaps circumstances forced them to colonize there. Can you show me?"

"Actually, I'm _so_ busy with my _super_ important case," Ron said, grandly. "Hermione, you've got free time, haven't you?"

Hermione turned to look up at Luna, summoning a smile that Luna returned easily. She laughed, weakly, suddenly a little nervous. "Uh, sure, Not that I believe in Nargles," she added, not wanting to seem out of character. And also she really _did not_ believe in Nargles, and the fact that she fancied a girl who _did_ made her want to go home and lobotomize herself, a little. "But if you need someone to help you take notes, or something, I'd be happy to… help with that."

"That'd be great, Hermione," Luna said, her smile widening. "I can't wait." She leaned down to press a hug into her, their cheeks touching, and then she was drifting away. "I'll meet you after you're done with work, okay?"

"Okay," Hermione whispered, and cleared her throat, mortified. "Okay!" she called, far too loud.

Ron shook his head at her. "You should see your face right now."

"Shut up. And you botched your line."

He made an indignant noise. "How _dare_ you!"

* * *

 **Quotes: "So, I found this waterfall..." , "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."**


	6. Sirius & Hermione

**Prompt: Sirius & Hermione.**

* * *

Working so closely with Sirius during the war had proven to be… confusing.

At first, she'd chalked up his friendliness to just that. He was friendly, and chatty, and maybe a little _too_ witty for his own good. She could see the young man he'd probably been, deep down – the little troublemaker who had helped come up with that damn map that had gotten Harry and Ron into endless amounts of trouble at school.

Every once in a while, though, he'd say something, and she'd find herself thinking: _Is he flirting_?

That was impossible, though. She was of age, yes, but that didn't erase the fact that he was twenty one years older than her. And the _best friend_ of his godson. It was too weird, and she was likely reading _far_ too much into it.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," she muttered, creeping through the underbrush with her wand at ready.

"You're blaming me?" he asked, with a huff of a laugh. " _You_ fainted. Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes," he teased.

"I hadn't slept in three days," she defended, hotly, her face flushing. "More specifically, you have _kept me up_ for three straight nights."

"I think it's amazing, how you can take just about anything, like my nightmares, for instance, and make it sound _so_ positively dirty," he commended her. "Honestly. I want to give you a medal of some sort. A prize. Something."

Hermione glared at him. "You think my lack of sleep is amusing, do you?"

He smiled, his eyebrows bouncing a bit. "Maybe when we get back to Grimmauld, I can show you how fun it is to be kept up all night."

"I rather like my sleep, _thank_ you," she said, tartly, her brusque tone doing little to hide her instant blush.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You fainted... straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes" , "I can't believe you talked me into this"**


	7. Dean & Seamus

**Prompt: Dean & Seamus.**

* * *

He sat stoically by while Dean and Ginny snogged each other half to death. She'd appeared in the middle of their chess game like some kind of evil _sex genie_ , and Seamus was currently debating with himself as to whether or not this counted as Dean ceding the game, or not.

His glare slid over to them as Ginny murmured, "You're so good at this."

"Only with you," Dean assured her, and Seamus rolled his eyes, leaning forward to finish the game with himself. "Don't you touch my rook, Seamus Finnigan," Dean added, making his friend throw his hands up in the air.

Seriously, his entire field of vision was taken up by freckles. How did he _do_ that? "Are we still playing?" he demanded, tersely. "Or should I leave?"

Ginny pulled back with a lazy grin. "I'll go," she offered. "Sorry to interrupt."

Dean made a plaintive noise as she pulled herself free of his lap and meandered towards the common room door, shooting him a wink over her shoulder and mouthing, _Later_. When she was gone, he scowled at Seamus. "Are you out of your _damn mind_?" he snapped.

"I just asked a question," Seamus shot back. "If you'd said, 'hey, leave me alone so I can suck Ginny Weasley's soul through her mouth into my stomach to sustain me for the next thirty years,' I would have _gladly_ left."

Dean squinted at him, a slow smile forming on his face. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

"Why, because a red-haired _succubus_ is slowly turning my best friend into a snog-zombie? How _ridiculous_ ," Seamus said, sarcastically. "This is _all I ever wanted_ for you. And you're so _fun_ these days, too."

"Hey, hey," Dean said, raising his hands. "Easy. Come on. She's not turning me into a zombie. I'm in full possession of my faculties."

"Yeah, right. Let's pack this up," he muttered. "I don't even remember whose turn it is."

"Seamus," Dean protested, as he began shoveling the pieces off the board with an irritable sweep of his arm. Dean grabbed his wrist, stilling the motion. "Hey. I'm with you, okay? Always. No girl in existence can divide us. Right?" He put the pieces back. "And it's my turn."

"It is _not_!"

"Ha! You said you didn't remember. You _liar_!" Dean accused, pointing at him gleefully as Seamus scowled.

* * *

 **Quotes: "Have you lost your damn _mind_?" , "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" , "Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always."**


	8. Ron & Lavender

**Prompt: Ron & Lavender.**

* * *

Hermione read a book during his Quidditch practice. As Ron touched back down on the ground, he heaved a disappointed sigh through his nose when he saw her head bent over her lap, greedily lapping up the words. Couldn't she at least _pretend_ to watch?

"You were great out there!" The bubbly voice startled him, and he wrenched his eyes away from his best friend and crush to blink at Lavender Brown.

Slowly, a smile formed on his face. "Was I?" he asked, sheepishly.

"So amazing," she gushed, jumping up and down a bit on the balls of her feet. "How'd you get to be so _good_?"

"Ah, natural talent, I guess?" he tried, with a faint shrug.

Lavender chewed on her lower lip, and he found himself captivated by the sight of it, his breath catching in his chest. "Will you…" She trailed off, a pretty blush dusting her cheeks as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Teach me how to play?"

No _way_ was this happening. "Sure," he said, completely flabbergasted. A _pretty girl_ was flirting with him?

And to think he'd almost considered not joining the Quidditch team at all.

* * *

 **Quotes: "Teach me how to play?"**


	9. Remus & Hermione

**Prompt: Remus & Hermione.**

* * *

She looked down at Teddy in her lap. The four-year old boy was laughing as his hair bloomed bright blue and then sunset orange. _This_ was all she had left of him. Taking a shuddering breath, she looked up at Andromeda, who already looked frail beyond her years as she wasted away in her bed. "I can't believe you talked me into this," Hermione whispered.

The woman smiled. Even though the expression was wan and her cheekbones stood out in stark contrast to her face, these days, she was undeniably beautiful. As Tonks had been, too.

She told herself that she'd never really had a shot with Remus, and not only because of the age difference. She couldn't really compare to Tonks, now, could she? She was just a plain little bookworm. And the unrequited feelings she'd had for the middle-aged werewolf was just a schoolgirl crush.

Or at least, that was what she told herself, when she didn't want to feel so pathetic.

"Promise me you'll love him as much as you loved his father, and I know he'll be in good hands," Andromeda whispered. She reached for Teddy with one shaking hand, smoothing her fingers through his violet curls.

"His father didn't choose me," Hermione breathed, feeling her nose sting with oncoming tears. She sniffled past it.

Andromeda chuckled weakly. "His father didn't even know," she murmured, shooting Hermione an amused look. Hermione startled guiltily, her eyes dropping back to Teddy. What would telling Remus have _done_? He was in love with Tonks. It wouldn't have done anything but made them awkward. It would have ruined _everything._ So she hadn't.

That was noble, right?

She jumped when she felt Andromeda's fingertips against her jaw, gently drawing her gaze up. "It's alright," the woman said, soothing. "Even Gryffindors are allowed a moment or two of cowardice in the name of love. Take care of him, Hermione."

Hermione inhaled sharply, raggedly, and blinked rapidly as tears threatened to spill. "I will," she promised, swallowing past the bruised feeling in her throat.

She'd love Teddy with everything she had.

After all, it was all she had left of _him_.

* * *

 **Quotes: "I can't believe you talked me into this."**


	10. Fred & Hermione (2)

**Prompt: Fred, George, and Ginny (plotting)**

* * *

"That's when," Fred continued, booping Ginny on the nose with his index finger. " _You_ come out. And you say to her, 'Didn't Fred win that snogging contest back in fourth year?'"

"No, no, she says that to _me_ , in _front_ of her," George corrected. "I'll say that it was me, of course."

"Won't work. Ginny's the only one that _never_ mixes us up," Fred reminded him.

George grinned at him. "Besides Hermione."

Fred's answering smile was still cheeky, but a little sincerely exhilarated, too. "Besides Hermione," he agreed, his grin a little on the breathless side. "After that, you know, it should be a breeze."

"You _could_ just ask her out, like a normal person," Ginny said, wryly.

The twins wore identical expressions of affront. "Just _who_ do you think I am?" Fred demanded. "You have to spread a little good press, first. Soften them up."

"And you think winning a _snogging contest_ is supposed to soften her up?" Ginny scoffed, incredulously. When Fred opened his mouth to respond, she flung her hand up to stop him. "Nope, no. I don't even need to hear your answer. This is, without a doubt, the _stupidest_ plan you've ever had."

She glanced around the corner, finding Hermione's bushy head hunched over a book. She turned back to her brothers. "Of course I'm in."

* * *

 **Quotes: "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."**


	11. Harry & Luna

**Prompt: Harry & Luna**

* * *

Harry watched her from where he was pressed up against the side of the building, his arms wrapped around himself and his shoulders pressed up against his ears. This was the driest spot he could find, and yet he was still getting stung with rain from seemingly all sides. _She_ was wearing jeans that she'd drawn on with Muggle markers and the kind of fancy blouse that usually went with a skirt-suit. The silken material clung to her body in interesting ways he _refused_ to contemplate as she stood in the middle of the downpour, her face tilted back to catch the rain.

"Are you quite through?" he called out to her, huddling bitterly against the brick as another gust of wind sent icy shards of rain into his side. "We're in the middle of a _thunderstorm_ and you want to stop and feel the rain?"

She turned to face him, and Harry's eyes dipped automatically to her chest before he forced them to her face. He did _not_ fancy Loony Luna Lovegood.

Closing the distance between them, she gave a little twirl, her runners sending up a spiral of water from a puddle that he shied away from with a scowl. "I think I'm bored of hiding," she said, dreamily. Her blonde hair was plastered to her skull. "I think we should save the hiding for Death Eaters and nargles. Otherwise, we'll get too good at it, and never come back out."

With that, she reached for his hand, tugging him free of his sad bit of shelter and out into the downpour. Harry sighed gustily as his glasses became perfectly unusable within seconds.

Through the water-smeared glass, he saw the colorful blob of her spin again, and looked up into the angry smear of grey, his scowl fading. A strange sense of peace filled his chest as he watched water droplets bloom across his glasses one by one. The war was over, anyway, so maybe she was right.

Maybe it was time to come back out.

* * *

 **Quotes: "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?"**


	12. Sirius & Hermione (2)

**Prompt: Sirius & Hermione**

* * *

Hermione was dead asleep when she felt her bed shift under the weight of something _big_. It felt like something four-legged, and she sighed as she woke up halfway, rolling towards it and throwing an arm over its back. The dog whined, and she murmured, "Settle down, Nemo, will you? I'm trying to sleep. Should kick you out. Naughty pup."

She buried her face in the dog's fur, feeling strangely surprised and contented by his presence. She couldn't really fathom _why_ the family dog's appearance in her bed was a surprise. She'd spent most of her childhood sleeping with him.

When the morning light filtered in hours later, her first waking thought was: _Nemo died six years ago._

Her eyes shot open _wide_ when the form beneath her arm was not covered in fur, at all. Actually, it was just skin. Warm, human skin. She sucked in a shocked breath as she gaped at Harry's _godfather_ , who was slumbering peacefully in her bed as though he had _every right_ to be there.

Squeaking in shock, she bolted upright, waking him. Her movement dislodged the blanket, and she shrieked and threw her hands over her eyes.

"Sirius!" she screeched, making the man wince. "What are you– Oh, my God!" She scrambled free of the covers, thankful she'd never gotten into Ginny's habit of sleeping in the _nude_. No, she was wearing a big baggy sweatshirt and some basketball shorts.

"Please lower your voice," he sighed, tiredly. He didn't even bother to _cover_ himself, and even stretched, making her eyes bulge out of their sockets.

Turning her back to him, she grit out: "Is there a _reason_ you're naked, in my bed?"

"Probably," he admitted, eyes closing again. "Can't remember. All a blur. Drank too much. Or maybe just the right amount. Was I a dog when I came in here?" he asked, curiously, and Hermione groaned in misery. "You're still dressed, so I must have been."

"Sirius _Orion_ Black, remove yourself from my bed _this instant_ ," she hissed.

"Hermione _Jean_ Granger," he mimicked, rolling his eyes. "I'm very hungover. Be a dear and come back, won't you? I sleep through my hangovers _much_ better with company."

She issued a short, frustrated scream before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

 **Quotes: "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"**


	13. Harry & Hermione (2)

**Prompt: Harry & Hermione.**

* * *

"Don't you dare throw that snowba–" Harry's voice cut off as the ball of white fluff made direct impact with his face, his glasses flying off and making a heroic arc through the air (the sunlight glinting on the glass just the once) before they suddenly disappeared into two feet of snow. "Goddamnit!" he spluttered, clawing snow out of his face.

Gasping, Hermione threw her mitten over her face, slogging through the snow to catch up to him. "Oh, my God, Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't think I was that good of a shot," she said, trying to sound appropriately apologetic through her peals of laughter.

"Yeah, you sure _sound_ sorry," he muttered, scowling as he squinted around for his glasses.

Giggling, she smoothed her mittens over his face to wipe the rest of the snow off. "If it makes you feel any better, I was aiming for your crotch," she said, grinning devilishly.

"In _what world_ was that supposed to make me feel better?" he demanded, whirling to give her an incredulous glare (that was slightly unfocused). She laughed, again, and he huffed, turning to bend down and peer into the snow. "Will you stop choking on your own amusement and help me find my glasses?" he asked, tartly. " _Please_?"

Still chortling, she pulled out her wand and began melting snow. "Don't take a step, you might crush them," she cautioned him, watching him tilt his head back to groan loudly at the sky.

* * *

 **Quotes: "Don't you dare throw that snowba- God damnit!"**


	14. Sirius & Remus

**Prompt: Sirius & Remus.**

* * *

His first cognizant thought was that his head felt like it was ready to crack in half. A dull ache had spread between his temples, making him immediately regret his decision to go for consciousness. Remus opened his eyes, groaning deep in his throat when the light from the window seemed to pierce into his very brain like a poison sword. He heard a page turn in a book. So he wasn't alone. "'Time 's'it," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, about eight. Eight-thirty? Eight," Sirius decided, in a chipper tone. Remus couldn't immediately place him from sound alone, but it didn't sound like anyone else was in the room.

"Where?" he whispered. The last thing he remembered was getting prepared for the full moon. Or trying to, at least.

That potion had tasted funny.

"We, my good friend, are in our dormitories. I thought Pomfrey was supposed to escort you to the Shack," he added, a little accusingly. Or suspiciously. It wasn't like either of them to fail to ensure that Remus made it to safety in time.

Remus sat up, shaking. "She sent me an owl with a potion. Said she couldn't make it."

Sobering, Sirius helped steady him. "Well, that's not fishy at all," he muttered. He tucked his chin over Remus' shoulder. "You passed out, you know. Right after dinner. You fainted… _straight_ into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes," he teased, his breath tickling Remus' ear.

Remus shrugged him off. "I've a splitting headache," he huffed. He could never tell, when Sirius started up his little flirting game, just how _sincere_ the other boy was being. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing. "Quit joking around."

Sirius' arms folded around him again, and Remus grunted as he was yanked back against his friend's solid form. He looked blearily down at Sirius' legs framing his. "I thought you were going to die, last night," Sirius said, his voice quiet. There was no hint of amusement in there, anymore. "Do you know how many times you stopped breathing?"

Remus didn't answer, his eyes locked on Sirius' knees pressing into his.

"I'll tell _you_ when I'm joking," Sirius whispered into the nape of his neck. He pressed his lips there, almost hesitantly, and felt how the little hairs there shot straight up, raising goosebumps. His worry passed quickly when Remus didn't fight to free himself from his embrace, and he tightened his hold on him, pressing him into his chest. "You're _never_ allowed to leave me. You promise me," he ordered, his voice tight.

"Okay," Remus managed, his own throat swelling a bit as he blinked back the tell-tale sting in his eyes.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."**


	15. Draco & Hermione

**Prompt: Draco & Hermione.**

* * *

"Mum! It's _not_ what it looks like!" Hermione stormed into Draco's study, her son's ear caught firmly between her fingers. At fourteen, Scorpius was gangly and thin, shooting up like a beanstalk and not yet grown into his new height.

Draco's eyebrows raised slowly as Scorpius whined and clawed at the hand gripping his ear. He knew firsthand how much _that_ little maneuver hurt.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "What did he do?"

"I caught him–"

"Dad, it's _not like that_ –" Scorpius interrupted, and Hermione's hand twisted on his ear a bit, nearly sending the poor boy to his knees.

She sighed through her nose. "Don't interrupt," she said, primly. "I caught him in his room with Rose, playing some sort of game that apparently involves undressing."

"It was _her idea_!"

Hermione dragged him back upright by his ear, turning to hiss, "You said you weren't doing anything inappropriate! You _lied_ to me! And I let that poor girl into your room unsupervised– oh my God, Ron is going to _kill me_ , right after he kills _you_!"

Draco chuckled, but at his wife's withering look, he quickly sobered and hid the noise with a few well-placed coughs. "Well. Scorpius. That was very… bad. Very, very bad," he said, as sternly as he could.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and he grimaced at her, at a loss of what to say.

"Don't you … _ever_ do that again," he added, watching his wife's face for some sort of sign that he was headed in the right direction. Her glare intensified, and he sighed. "Go wait outside for a second, Scorpius. You are under _no circumstances_ to return to your room. Wait outside, in the _hallway_ , and if Rose Weasley happens along, you stare straight ahead like you don't even see her. Don't talk to her, don't look at her, don't even think about her. You got that?"

Hermione released his ear, and Scorpius cringed, rubbing it. "Yes, sir," he muttered, his face bright red. Draco waved him towards the door, and he slouched out.

As soon as his son was gone and the study door was closed, Draco cast a quick silencing spell and started to laugh.

"Draco!" Hermione snapped, throwing her hands up.

"What?" he defended, throwing a hand towards the door to indicate their son. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione, he's fourteen, and so is she. Did you really expect something like this _not_ to happen? What do you think they're doing when they're unattended at Hogwarts for nine months out of the year?"

She groaned. "That is not the _point_. Do you have any idea how much Ron is going to _throttle us to death_ if he ever finds out–"

"He won't find out. And if he does, we'll move to Aruba," he soothed, standing and circling the desk to take his wife's shoulders in his hands. "And you can wear that bikini you look so delicious in."

"Tch," she tsked, disapprovingly, and swatted his chest.

He smiled, leaning forward to steal a kiss. "They'll be _fine_. It's perfectly normal for kids that age to investigate snogging and the thrill of nudity. That being said, let's make it a rule that they're not allowed in his room, anymore."

"Deal," she agreed, with a sigh. She started to snicker, herself, and cleared her throat. "Okay, sober up, because you have to look properly mad when we go out there."

Draco nodded, taking a few moments to breathe in and out, quelling the urge to laugh. When he'd perfected a stern expression, he gave his wife a nod and strode purposefully for the door to strike the fear of God into his stupid (hilarious) son.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You lied to me," "Don't you ever do that again," and "It's not what it looks like."**


	16. Fred & Hermione (3)

**Prompt: Fred & Hermione.**

* * *

She came back to consciousness with a gasp, her grip still on her wand. She could feel the cold stones of Hogwarts stealing the body heat from her legs. As she jolted up, though, she realized that her upper body was couched against something warm and soft, a freckled arm loosely wrapped around her collarbones.

Hermione looked up, craning her neck uncomfortably. She could hear the sounds of the battle raging elsewhere in the castle, but for now, in that corridor, there was nothing but the two of them.

"Fred?" she croaked, confused. The last thing she remembered was running side-by-side with Ron. "What happened?"

The battered Weasley twin shot her a crooked grin. "You fainted," he said, his grin widening a bit as he recalled. She found it nothing short of awe-inspiring, that he was able to retain his sense of humor at this time, _of all times_. "Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."

Her eyes narrowed. "I did not," she accused, sitting up better and trying to shrug his arm off of her. She felt like she'd been put through a wringer. "What really happened?"

"I just told you," he insisted.

"Where's Harry?"

Fred squinted an eye at her. "It's a real blow to the ego, you waking up in one bloke's arms and calling out the name of another bloke, you know."

She turned towards him, furious and ready to give him a telling-off of epic proportions, when he grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked her forward. Their lips clashed awkwardly as she fell into him, their teeth clicking together. Shocked, she froze there, her hand fluttering awkwardly on his chest as he kissed her. Instinct spurred her to respond, but she'd only just started to when he stopped, using the fist around her shirt collar to push her back.

Hermione stared at him, speechless and wide-eyed. "Why–" she began, and he shook his head.

"Life might end up awfully short for one of us, Granger," he said, his crooked smile taking on a fond, sobering sort of quality as he spent a moment tracing her face with his eyes. "And, you know, I'd always sort of wondered what it would be like to give you a good snog."

She started to scowl, and he added, "It was terrible, by the way. But I'll accept thirty percent of the blame, for that."

"You–"

"We should try it again, sometime," he suggested, in a brighter tone.

Glaring at him, she pushed herself to her feet, and hauled him up to his. She noticed that he seemed to be favoring his left hand, a little, and saw that his pinky finger was swollen. He must have broken it. "We're talking about this afterwards," she said, archly, and his grin widened impossibly further.

"Looking forward to it, Granger," he said, with a mock-salute and a wink. Then, they turned from each other, heading in opposite directions as the battle raged around them.

The conversation never happened, of course.

Some days, she wasn't sure if she wanted to curse Fred Weasley for making her wonder or bless his memory for letting her see the glorious possibility of what could have been. She kept her tears to herself, though, and one day she might have convinced herself that she'd dreamed every last second of it, if not for the occasional raw, searching glance George sent her when she'd nearly forgotten.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You fainted... straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."**


	17. Draco & Hermione (2)

**Prompt: Draco & Hermione.**

* * *

"Do you want to go on a date?" Hermione asked, softly – hesitantly, he realized. He shot her a sharp look, and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth, her face flushed.

His eyebrows drew together, and he slowly put his coffee down. "With you?" he clarified, uncertainly.

She rolled her eyes, looking testy. "No, with my Muggle cousin. She's great. You'll love her," she huffed, annoyed. The muffin she'd looked so excited for when she'd been standing at the counter was quickly turning into confetti beneath her anxious fingers. " _Obviously_ with me."

Draco blinked. It was true that they'd been spending more time together – as friends, that is – and that they had rousing conversations. It was true that he liked her. She was challenging, and smart, and interesting.

It was true that he thought she was pretty, even if her hair was godawful.

But he'd never seriously considered her as a candidate for a relationship. Not once. And as he was trying to examine why, her nerves got the best of her. "Nevermind," she said, suddenly, offering a fleeting smile. "It was stupid, and I know you just got over Astoria, and it was… it was stupid. Forget it." She started to stand, embarrassed, and he grabbed her wrist before she could fully leave her chair.

"No," he said, shocking himself. The word had come out completely unbidden, before he'd even allowed himself to think it. It had sprung to his lips as though powered by the basest instinct within himself. "Please, don't leave."

She stared at him, paling a bit as she twisting her fingers together.

"I'd like that," he said, slowly, uncertain of the sentence even as he said it. The second it was out, though, he realized that it was true. He _would_ like that. Now that she'd exposed the possibility, he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. To pin her beneath him in bed. To see her face when she came. "Dinner?"

She looked ready to either hyperventilate or collapse in relief, and he wasn't sure which reaction she was leaning more towards, for a scary moment. Finally, she decided on relief, and she sighed, smiling. "Sounds great."

* * *

 **Quotes: "Please, don't leave."**


	18. Fred & Hermione (4)

**Prompt: Fred & Hermione.**

* * *

The first gift looked and smelled like chocolate, but Hermione was no idiot. After seeing a _Happy Christmas, Hermione - Fred_ on the little card attached, she picked up the box of chocolates and brought them _all the way outside_ , putting them directly into her parents' rubbish bin.

She was _not interested_ in dealing with whatever prank that idiot had cooked up.

The second gift arrived in the middle of breakfast, a tawny owl swooping in to deposit it right in the middle of the table. She managed to shoo the bird away, but only _after_ it had stolen a sausage off of her father's plate. "Sorry," she muttered to her parents, picking the box up and examining the little attached label.

 _Don't throw this one away. It won't kill you. Promise. Happy Christmas! - Fred_

She scoffed, and put the new box out on the front porch. She wasn't sure if he just knew her well enough to know she'd be highly suspicious, or if she was somehow keeping track of the presents. Either way, a promise not to _kill her_ was hardly sufficient. There were plenty of awful things a Weasley product could do to a person that didn't involve death, and she wasn't aching to test any of those results.

The third gift was hidden in with the presents under the tree. Hermione's smile quickly shifted into a scowl when she picked it up, recognizing the wrapping paper and the little label.

"Fred, I'm going to kill you," she muttered, earning concerned glances from her parents. Didn't he have better things to do on _Christmas_ than bother her?

The label read: _It's just chocolate! Don't be a scaredy-kneazle. Happy Christmas. - Fred_

Her father piped up, "So, chocolate, eh? Do you have a secret admirer?" He was joking, but there was a thread of nervousness to his voice. Hermione had never mentioned any of her short-lived, failed romances to him, so for all he knew, she was as pure as the day she was born.

"Why don't you eat it, darling?" her mum suggested.

"No, I have a very _public nuisance_ ," Hermione huffed. "And I'm not eating anything he sends me. He's a prankster," she explained. "Ron's brother. They run a joke shop in Diagon Alley."

"He seems very determined to give you those," her father murmured.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "All the more reason to not accept them," she said, giving the box a suspicious look. Ever since her edict not to play pranks on the younger years, she'd found herself on the receiving end of several of Fred's new products. One had turned her hair blue for three weeks straight. Another had summoned a thundercloud that rained directly on her head, growing worse and worse the more agitated she'd become. Yet another had made her irresistible to birds, and she'd had to sit through Transfiguration covered in tiny robins.

She had _not appreciated_ being Fred's new favorite target, something she'd made very clear through the Howlers she'd sent him. She wasn't even sure how he was managing to sneak anything into Hogwarts, to be honest. She wondered if Ron was complicit in the pranks, and vowed to corner him and interrogate him thoroughly when she was back.

Shaking her head, she stood with the third gift and opened the front door, intent on putting this one in with the rest of the rubbish. Squealing in surprise, she jumped back as an _avalanche_ of identical chocolate boxes poured in from the porch.

Staring at the mess of boxes all over the foyer, Hermione just stood, frozen.

Behind her, her mother said, "Well, he certainly _is_ determined." They could barely even see outside for all the boxes that had been piled up beyond the front door.

Hermione bent down to pick one up, frowning.

 _No prank. On my honor as a Weasley! If I'm lying, you can burn down the shop. Happy Christmas and accept my bloody present already! I'm prepared to do this all day! - Fred_

She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to reign in her temper. Her fits of fury were fine enough at Hogwarts, but she didn't want her parents to see her throw a tantrum over a Christmas present. But it seemed like this wasn't going to stop. "Alright," she muttered, turning to trot up the stairs and grab her wand. She returned downstairs and vanished away the pile of boxes so she could close the door and keep the frigid winter air outside.

"Be ready to take me to the hospital," she warned her parents, and her father's eyebrows nearly shot off his head.

Hermione sat down on the couch and opened the box. There were sixteen chocolates inside, and they certainly _looked_ innocuous enough. Setting her lips in a grim line, she picked one up and popped it in her mouth, prepared for the flavor of chicken grease or vomit or whatever else Fred had cooked up.

She was startled to taste only the cherry mousse inside. Chewing slowly, she inspected her body for weird growths. Nothing. Yet.

Glancing down at the box, she blinked when she realized that she'd uncovered some letters beneath the chocolate: _p regre_

Squinting, she began picking all the chocolates out, setting them on the box's lid. She removed the last one slowly, her eyes already roving the message. Her eyebrows lifted incredulously as she read, her mouth dropping open in shock. Instinctively, she thought this had to be a joke of some sort, but for some reason she didn't think he'd have gone to this much trouble for a simple laugh.

 _Hermione,_

 _I know this is kind of out of the blue, but with everything going on, I don't want to wait and end up regretting it. Go out to dinner with me on New Year's. I promise we'll have a good time. And I won't bring anything from the joke shop._

 _If the answer's yes, meet me at the Leaky at six on the 31st. Which isn't code for ten til, you punctual nutter._

 _Fred_

 _PS I told you there was nothing wrong with the chocolate. You're so paranoid._

* * *

 **Quotes: None in prompt!**


	19. Charlie & Pansy

**Prompt: Charlie & Pansy.**

* * *

"Well, this is awkward."

She jerked her chin up to regard him, her dark eyes glittering with immediate suspicion. Her lip curled into an instinctive sneer as she took in the gaudy mop of red hair. "Which one are you supposed to be, then?" she asked, inspecting her nails.

"Charlie. The dragon one," he said, and his laugh was a little self-deprecating. He indicated the room with a wave. "That's why I'm here."

The Malfoys had been buying their way back into favor through philanthropy, something Pansy would have _certainly_ possessed no patience for if that didn't also mean a never-ending parade of Narcissa Malfoy's parties. The latest cause was to save the nesting grounds of some dragon species or another. She didn't follow such insipid things; that was more Granger's field of interest.

"Guest of honor, are you?" she drawled, her eyes tracing the dance floor. She was doing little to disguise her apathy in regards to this conversation, but he didn't seem like the sort to _take a hint_.

He nodded, and then said, abruptly: "Wanna dance?"

Her head jerked towards him, the instinctive sneer etching more firmly onto her face at the very _notion_ of twirling around the dance floor with a thrice-damned _Weasley_. "What."

"Dancing. It's that thing where you kind of loosely clasp arms and move around in time to music?" he explained, helpfully. When the openly hostile expression on her face didn't fade, he chuckled and added, "You know, it might do some good for the rest of your dance card if the guest of honor took you out for a spin?"

"The dance card is vacant because I wish it to be, not because I lack interested parties," she snapped.

"I believe you," he said, and he sounded sincere.

Rolling her eyes, she extended a hand towards him. The jewelry on it looked too-large, dwarfing her pale, thin fingers. He took it with a surprised smile, and started to lead her out. The next thing she knew, the room was spinning, and blackness was crawling from the edges of her vision that she couldn't blink away.

"Are you alright?" she heard him ask, and then the world went black as she struggled to remember when she'd last eaten.

When she came to, she was on the floor, cradled in Charlie Weasley's lap. The inhabitants of the party crowded around her, and she felt herself flush in mortification. "Pans!" Draco shouldered roughly through her audience, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. His wife, Granger – no, _Malfoy_ , now – was fast on his heels, fumbling for her wand to no doubt do something annoyingly helpful.

"I'm fine," she bit out, trying to will away the heat that was pooling in her cheeks. She sat up.

"All for a dance with me, huh?" Charlie joked, weakly, although he still looked pale and worried. She shot him a withering look, and he said, defensively: "Come now. You fainted _straight_ into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes."

"Charlie," Hermione snapped in exasperated warning, even as Draco shot the ginger-haired dragon tamer a piercing glare.

She let Draco help her up, which stung her pride, but better Draco than that insufferable Weasley boy. "I'm _fine_ ," she said, in a low tone, and Draco pressed his teeth together and just nodded. "Just get me out of here," she added, almost inaudible.

The last thing she heard as her best friend towed her from the room was Hermione's piercing voice warning everyone – especially Charlie – to return to the party, _immediately_.

"Honestly, Charlie, can't you go _anywhere_ without making a scene?"

She heard the man sputtering indignantly, and then the door closed and the sounds of the party became a dull thrum.

* * *

 **Quotes: "So, this is awkward," "Wanna dance?" and "You fainted... straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."**


	20. Tom Riddle & Hermione

**Prompt: Tom Riddle & Hermione**

* * *

She clutched the broken time turner in her hand, slowing rising to her feet and trying to back into an alcove and out of sight. Students filtered through the hallway, which was familiar enough. However, their _uniforms_ were quite different, and the hairstyles–

Jesus Christ. What time was this?

Swallowing, Hermione reached for her wand. She needed to get some robes to cover her uniform, and _fast_. She was considering her options for what to try and transfigure when a voice sounded behind her.

"What are you doing?"

She stifled a squeak and whirled. It was just a young boy, with dark hair and dark eyes, both of which made his pale skin stand out in stark contrast. He was taller than her, but seemed young, and she wasn't sure what year he was in – although he couldn't have been older than her, for sure. "Ah… Nothing," she managed. Whatever time this was, she only knew one thing: She had to find Dumbledore.

She just hoped it wasn't so far back that this was an impossibility.

"Your skirt is very short," he said, flatly, but his eyes were glued on her face – no doubt realizing that he'd never seen her before, and thus she couldn't _possibly_ be a student.

Hermione glanced down at her skirt, the hem of which was resting at the standard of 'two fingers above the knees.' The other girls were wearing robes, so she had _no idea_ how long the skirt was actually supposed to be. "Right. Sorry," she muttered, waving her wand and extending it by a few inches.

He didn't look appeased at all. "Who are you? You're not a student here."

"Of course I am," she said, stiffly.

"What year?"

"Sixth," she shot back. "And you? I don't think you ought to be talking to sixth-years like that."

"I'm in fourth year," he said, lifting his chin. "And I don't know you."

What a nasty little brat. He reminded her of Malfoy in _so_ many ways, and she realized with an internal sigh that he was wearing a green tie. _Of course_. "Yes, well, thank goodness for that," she muttered, much more coldly. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?" She found a hair-tie in her pocket and – with much concentration – managed to make it into something of a robe. Not the right texture, but no one should look twice at her.

She made to move past him, and felt her heart thud in her chest when he blocked her. "That was impressive transfiguration," he said. "Hard to believe you're just a student."

"It's hard to believe that we're still having a conversation after I've _dismissed you_ ," she snapped, shouldering roughly past him and out into the hallway.

She half-expected him to chase after her, grab her, or call her out as being an impostor. However, she made it all the way to the west staircase some forty paces away without an issue. She wondered if anyone could notice the small sheen of nervous sweat that coated her, but most of the other students were too busy chatting animatedly with each other to pay her any mind.

On the first step, Hermione glanced over her shoulder, and nearly stumbled. He was standing where she'd left him, his dark eyes trained on her. Just then, a professor stopped to say hello to him, and she watched with wide eyes as his face _transformed_ , bearing a friendly, open smile with clean, white teeth.

Feeling her stomach twist with dread, she turned and hurried up the stairs.

His hair was a dark grey, not the white she was accustomed to. When she'd explained her predicament, he'd looked at her over his half-moon spectacles, his eyebrows flying up his forehead in astonishment.

He told her that the year was 1942.

"Please, you have to help me get back. Can't you get me another time-turner?" she asked, pulling on the golden chain that affixed hers around her neck. She took it off and passed it to him. "Or fix this one?"

He ran his fingers over the broken piece, frowning. "It would take too long and draw too many questions to try and get you another. I believe I can fix this, but it may take some time."

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. "How long?" she whispered.

"Miss Granger, I am sorry to say that I do not know."

He explained away her sudden appearance as her being a transfer student from Beauxbatons; native to England, and her parents had recently relocated and wanted her close. Thank _God_ she'd studied French as a child.

The staff knew of her predicament, and she caught a few pitying stares from them as she resumed her classes.

Classes were _different_. They seemed less advanced than those in her time, and she soon found herself aching to return to her advanced Arithmancy. She even missed Snape's horrid Potions classes.

The skirts, it turned out, went halfway down her calves, but she didn't often see any girls wandering around without their robes, regardless.

She was outside when he found her, again, sitting on the grass with a book cradled in her lap. She hadn't been reading it for nearly half an hour, at that point, her mind churning to try and figure out a way to her own time – wondering what Harry and Ron were getting up to, without her. She was worried about them.

"Granger." She recognized his voice and stifled the urge to roll her eyes. "I wanted to apologize for my rudeness. Can I sit?"

"I don't know, can you?" she asked, archly. She looked up at him, and saw a flicker of something disquieting pass through those dark eyes. She bit back whatever snappy thing she'd thought to add to her retort.

He quickly covered it with a smile. "I can," he said, in an almost _jovial_ tone. He seated himself beside her. "Hermione, isn't it?"

"Granger will do."

His head tilted a bit. "You're awfully cold, considering I've just apologized. I don't think I introduced myself. My name is Tom."

Her jaw clenched. She'd suspected, when Dumbledore had told her the year, although hearing it confirmed (and she did consider that to be _confirmed_ , because how many Slytherins were named _Tom_?) made her break out into a cold sweat. "Nice to meet you."

Tom leaned back on his hands. "I heard you're doing prodigiously well in your studies," he said, casually.

She made a noncommittal noise. She hadn't intended to show off in her classes; in fact, she resisted every urge to raise her hand, wanting to fade into the woodwork and do as little to disrupt the flow of time as possible. But she'd already learned most of what she was being taught, and she wasn't a good enough actress to do things deliberately _wrong_ , nor could she fully mask her impatience with the classwork.

"I've learned most of it, already," she said, dismissively. Let him think that Beauxbatons was simply a superior school.

"I see," he said, and his tone was clipped.

Hermione glanced at him, her eyes narrowing a bit as she took in his steely expression. She felt irrational laughter bubble up, spilling out of her before she could stop it. "Wait, a minute. Are you jealous?" she asked, incredulously. _Lord Voldemort_ was feeling outclassed? If she ever got back home, she was pretty sure she had just figured out how to improve Harry's mood indefinitely.

"Not at all. I'm very impressed," he recovered, smoothly. "I don't make this offer lightly, especially outside of my house, but perhaps you'd like to join me and my friends in Hogsmeade this weekend."

Oh, dear God, she'd rather eat a blackberry bush, thorns and all.

Summoning a tight smile, she said, "I'm afraid I'm not very interested in going to Hogsmeade. I prefer to spend my free time studying. Thank you for the offer."

"I really must insist."

"And I really must counter-insist," she said, closing her book and making to stand.

He gripped her wrist, and she gasped, falling back down onto her rump. His fingers dug into the skin, and she could feel a bruise forming beneath them. "You know, you should be careful about who you refuse, around here. School can be a bit of a social nightmare already, don't you think?"

Gritting her teeth, she wrenched her wrist free, and cast him a seething glare. "The only nightmare here is your company," she bit out, rising to her feet and brushing the grass from her robes.

"Allow me to persuade you otherwise."

"No, thanks." Her voice was like the crack of a whip, but he didn't flinch. If anything, the gentle smile on his face only widened, as though she'd just offered him an amusing anecdote. She felt her stomach start to revolt and turned away, eager to put as much distance between them as humanly possible.

She needed Dumbledore to fix that time turner, and _fast._

* * *

 **Quotes: "Wait a minute... are you jealous?"**


	21. Sirius & Hermione (3)

**Prompt: Sirius & Hermione**

* * *

It was, in a word, sick.

Yes, that was how he thought of it – how he thought of himself, these days. She was young enough to be his daughter. And she was too young and bright and pure for a bitter man who'd just crawled out of Azkaban. They'd both gone through this war together, but somehow she seemed less tarnished by it than he.

They all did. Maybe that was just the strange invulnerability of youth. Or maybe it was because they hadn't lost _each other_. The trio were as close as ever.

And Sirius was alone. Remus had died defending Tonks' cooling body and sometimes he could not _believe_ how selfish his last act on this planet had been. He had a son to raise. He had a _Sirius_ to keep company.

Her laugh drew his gaze, against his will. At the Burrow, life seemed a little brighter, and he enjoyed the family dinners there. Hermione leaned against Harry, her tanned legs seemingly endless from where they came out of those shorts. He found himself tracing the smooth expanse of her thighs with his eyes too many times and jerked his head away from her, disgust warring with desire in his belly.

She was only nineteen.

And as much as he resisted the path of maturity, even _he_ could not ignore the fact that she was just a child, with her whole beautiful life ahead of her. He had no business trying to involve himself with it.

All he had were those lonely nights when he smoothed his palm over himself, eyes closing as he thought of her dusky eyes boring into his as she rode him, imagining those pink-petal lips opening up with a gasp and a moan–

And then after the sticky business was concluded, he got the _pleasure_ of falling asleep with the shame, which was as endless as the girl's legs.

Sick. Twisted. Wrong.

She walked past him, bending over at the waist to grab a snack from a lower cabinet, and Sirius quickly diverted his eyes to the ceiling with a ragged, nasal sigh. Remus was probably enjoying his torture rather thoroughly from the other side.

Prick.

* * *

 **Quotes: None in prompt!**


	22. Bellatrix & Dumbledore

**Prompt: Bellatrix & Dumbledore**

* * *

Someone was lightly slapping his face. "Hey," came a brusque, feminine voice. "You need to wake up, because I can't do this without you."

Albus blinked blearily up at the figure hovering over him. All he saw was a nimbus of black hair surrounding a pale face. "Wh–" he mumbled, coming to full consciousness rather abruptly when he realized just _who_ was under the sheets with him. "Bellatrix! Is there a reason you're– _naked_ in my bed?" he demanded, sitting up and recoiling from her.

She leaned after him, her lips forming a crimson pout. "Kiss me," she breathed, huskily.

" _No_ , thank you," he said, crisply, turning to vacate the bed entirely. She wrapped her arms around him, wrestling him back into the bed with a snarl. "Release me, Mrs. Lestrange!"

"I don't think so," she bit out, forcing his frail body back against the bed so she could straddle him. She slid her body against his in one graceful, sinuous movement. "Not until I get what I want, you silly little creature."

"And what, pray tell–" His expression was a mask of revulsion. "Would that be?"

She leaned down to whisper the words in his ear, her breath hot. "Information." Her tongue snaked out, curling up the shell of it, and he used what little strength that remained to toss him off of her. She squealed in outrage as she landed in a tangle of pale limbs.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort came out of his reverie with a faint blink, his eyes focusing on the beautiful woman before him. Even the shadows under her heavy-lidded eyes did nothing to subtract from her stunning appearance. But even so, he didn't think she could tempt Albus Dumbledore. "Yes, Bellatrix."

"I asked what your plan is," she reminded him, in a soft, tender tone. "You said you may have thought of a way to ply Dumbledore for information?"

"I was thinking along the lines of seduction," he admitted, and her eyebrows lifted a bit, her mouth showing hints of strain as she struggled not to let her disgust at the notion show. He smiled, curling his fingers underneath her chin, enjoying the way her gaze softened with adoration as he touched her. "Not to worry, my dearest," he assured her, his voice soft and sibilant. "I don't believe you are quite to his type. Perhaps Lucius can be persuaded to appeal to his baser instincts."

"That is a fabulous idea," she purred, turning her head to press her cheek into his palm, like a cat.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You need to wake up, because I can't do this without you," "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" and "Kiss me."**


	23. Draco & Hermione (3)

**Prompt: Draco & Hermione**

* * *

She rubbed the back of her neck, stretching her chin up with a wince. It felt like she'd spent _forever_ helping Ginny and Draco paint ducks onto the wall of the new nursery. Well, she and _Draco_ were doing it. Ginny had picked up a paintbrush at some point several hours ago, and since then seemed to take on a more 'art director' approach.

And, most recently, she took on a 'snack and nap director' approach, leaving Hermione alone with the prat. They mostly worked in stony silence. She wasn't going to begrudge Ginny her new friend, although she wasn't going to pretend she _understood_ it, either.

Harry had warmed up to him after the first few months, and Ron caved soon after, almost like he'd only hated Draco Malfoy out of solidarity to his best mate.

Hermione wasn't so easily swayed. She was polite, but she never offered more than that. He didn't deserve it – not from her. Not after _everything_ he and his family had done to her. And her friends, thankfully, knew a _lot_ better than to try and pressure her to think otherwise.

She felt his eyes on her as she stretched her neck, and bristled, shooting him a quick glare. "What?" she asked, flatly.

He shrugged, pinning the duck stencil to the pale blue wall.

Silence reigned for a moment, and then he seemed to change his mind, very suddenly. "You know," he said, staring at the stencil as he painted yellow into the form. "Sometimes… I wish I could hate you. Like I always did."

She blinked, her hand slowing from her own painting as she shot him a strange look. He'd been friends with Ginny for over a year, now, and she was pretty sure she could count the times they'd had an actual conversation on one hand. She had always been quick to shut down any attempts to befriend her. She wasn't interested. Not in that. Not from him.

"What?" she asked, suspiciously. She cast a surreptitious glance around the room, looking for someone to be giggling off to the side or a hidden camera, or something.

He smiled, a little bitterly. "I know you're not going to take me seriously, but, you know, what the hell? I'm going to say it, anyway."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Malfoy, _what_ are you going on about?"

"I think I'm in love with you," he said, suddenly, and she just stared. He looked up at her, and laughed, darkly. Then he swallowed, sobering abruptly. "And I'm terrified."

It took her a few seconds to find her words. "Quit playing around," she snapped, irritated.

He turned a sad, resigned smile to the yellow-tipped paintbrush in his hands. "See, I saw that coming, and it still really did not feel good," he commented, in an almost idle tone. "Is there anything I can do to convince you that I'm serious?"

"No," she said, brusquely. "Be quiet. I don't have the energy to deal with whatever you're doing."

He swallowed, with what looked like a little difficulty, and nodded.

Silence took over again, but it was different than before – whatever thing-resembling-a-truce they'd had before was shattered by his confession, or his prank, or _whatever_ it was. She stiffly picked her paintbrush back up, refusing to so much as look at him as they finished their task.

He didn't bring it up, again.

* * *

 **Quotes: "I wish I could hate you" and "I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified."**


	24. Severus & Hermione

**Prompt: Severus & Hermione**

* * *

There were times when Hermione wished there hadn't been an antidote to Nagini's poison. Actually, now that she'd apprenticed to the Potions Master, those times were cropping up with such regularity that they were invading her dreams. Just last night, she'd dreamed that she'd used a stolen time turner to go back to that moment when Snape lay dying, stolen the antidote from her _own stupid hand_ , and smashed it on the floor. Then, with an enigmatic 'You'll thank me later,' she left her past-self gaping as she disappeared away.

Her cauldron began to bubble, and she was startled out of her daydream as she stirred it, growing a bit anxious. It wasn't meant to boil. Gingerly, she eased the flame down, and flicked a guilty glance around. He didn't seem to be in the room.

"Miss Granger." Her shoulders hunched. _Damn_ it. "If you must force your presence upon me, I ask that you at least summon the courtesy to do what menial tasks I provide with a certain level of focus. Or do you not think you have wasted enough of my stores on silly mistakes?"

She ground her teeth. "Sorry."

How did she come to be _here_ , in this dank, smelly dungeon with the world's most bitterly resentful man? Oh, right. She'd begged to be here. She'd wanted to be a Potions Master, and wanted to train under the _best_. She just hadn't accounted for the fact that he hated her.

And she suspected that he hated her all the more for saving his life.

What a _pillock_.

McGonagall had been the one to convince him to take her in, after fourteen failed attempts on Hermione's part. She wasn't entirely sure what the Headmistress had done, but one day he'd snarled _Absolutely not!_ and slammed the door in her face, and the next day she had an owl telling her that she was to arrive within five minutes or he'd consider her uninterested.

She'd Apparated just outside the grounds and _sprinted_ in. Four minutes and forty-four seconds later, she was knocking on his office door, coated in sweat and her hair sticking out every which way.

He'd sneered when he opened the door, disgusted by her enthusiasm.

That should have been her first warning.

"Miss _Granger_ ," he hissed, and she jumped, choking down a squeal. The potion had started bubbling again, and one of the bubbles grew and exploded, spraying her in the boiling mess. She'd long since taken off her robe to deal with the oppressive heat of the room, and shrieked as the scalding droplets hit her.

"Ow! _F_ –" The swear-word wouldn't come out, leaving her feeling tongue-tied. She realized it was because of _him_. She was still stuck in the mentality of being his student, and him her forbidding professor – even now, at twenty-six years old.

"Take them off," he commanded, sweeping across the room, his eyes widening a smidgen. At her confused look, he snarled, "Your _clothes,_ you silly girl."

Her eyes nearly exploded out of her head. "Excuse me?" she demanded. The scalding spray had already cooled, leaving some sore patches behind. They weren't _still burning her_ , so why would she have to disrobe?

"You heard me," he enunciated. Impatiently, he reached for the collar of her button-up shirt. "Take. It. Off."

Hermione reared back, slapping his fingers away from her button. "Professor–"

"I am _not_ your professor anymore!" he snapped, crowding her against the preparation table and _ripping_ the shirt off of her, making buttons go flying in every direction. She screamed in surprise, instinctively reaching up to cover herself, only to have him grip her by the shoulder to rip the sleeves off of her arms.

She was startled to realize how _warm_ his hand was. She'd always expected that he'd feel cold and clammy to the touch, although she'd never once gone out of her way to touch him at all.

He used his wand to flick the shirt into the far corner of the room, and pointed it at her.

She threw her arms over her chest, her fingers curling under her chin as she glared at him incredulously. His black eyes dipped over her skin as he muttered under his breath, and she felt the sore patches where the potion had touched her fade away.

When he was done, he looked at her, realizing with a mocking curl of his lip that she was trembling. He had an expression on his face like he dearly wanted to roll his eyes but considered the act beneath him.

Wordlessly, Snape levitated her robe to his outstretched hand, and passed it to her. She snatched it from him, quickly turning her back to him to pull it on.

He said, "Throw that out," indicating the ruined potion with a flick of his fingers.

Scowling, Hermione vanished the liquid as soon as she had her robe on, shielding her skin from his eyes. She marched over to where he'd abandoned her shirt, muttering angrily under her breath. When she picked up the ball of fabric, she felt her throat grow dry.

Patches of the shirt had outright disintegrated, the potion steadily eating away at it. Some of it had melted together, leaving her with a mess that wouldn't be fit to use as a washrag.

Her angry mutters died away, and she snuck a glance towards the man at the front of the room. He was ignoring her utterly, as he usually did if she wasn't messing something up. His long, thin fingers were skimming his store room shelves, taking a brief inventory of what ingredients he had. Slowly, Hermione tore her gaze away to look at the shirt, again.

Subdued, she vanished it.

And without another word, she returned to her workbench and began to prepare another iteration of the potion she'd mucked up, working diligently and silently to catch up.

She was oblivious to the considering look he gave her, out of the corner of his eye, as he turned from his shelves to return to his desk.

* * *

 **Quotes: "You heard me. Take. It. Off."**


	25. Severus & Hermione (Addendum)

**Prompt: Severus & Hermione (Addendum)**

 **An answer to the question: "What *did* McGonagall do to get Snape to accept Hermione as his apprentice?" by just-things-i-like-mostly.**

* * *

She called in a _favor_.

There was a time, several years ago when Lily Potter's death was fresh and Severus had just turned coat on the Death Eaters, when he felt like he had nothing to live for. He accepted the position at Hogwarts and spent his days listless and his nights sleepless. Because of his affiliations and general attitude, all the professors gave him a wide berth.

Save two. Everyone knows of the friendship between Dumbledore and Snape, but the relationship that developed between McGonagall and her co-worker was far more interesting.

It was hard to let house rivalries completely die, of course, and when she visited him in his office after school hours, it was under the guise of seeing how he was dealing with his school-related work. He detested her nosiness and although he endured this "surveillance" for about a week, soon he snapped at her to either lodge a complaint or leave him alone.

She did neither.

She wore into his life like a river cutting through a mountain, popping up at the same times, the same days, for the same reasons. Sometimes she requested tea and made him make some for her. Sometimes she demanded to know why he never had biscuits, and he'd tersely reply that he was not a _coffee shop_. Sometimes she accused him, almost offhandedly, of targeting her house's students, which he always scoffed at; the idea that he'd care about any students or their house affiliations was ludicrous to him in the wake of Lily's passing.

But the most important part was that she was _there_. When he came back from the Death Eater revels tired and soul-worn and wishing for death, she was there, pursing her lips at him and telling him to quit being so dramatic. Because honestly, Slytherins and their _drama.  
_

One day was darker than the others.

It was the Christmas holidays, his first year on the job. McGonagall had decided to return to her home to visit with her nieces and nephews. It was a Tuesday, at 6pm, and he glanced at his office door.

At 6:30pm, he felt fidgety.

By 7pm, he realized he was waiting for her, and cursed himself. When had the routine become so deeply ingrained?

Worse yet, why hadn't he realized how much he _depended_ on that small measure of human interaction?

Another week passed, and it was nearly Christmas. He hadn't seen another soul, and barely left his quarters. No one came to find him. No one sought him out. No fellow Death Eaters, even in the lonely soul-searching absence of their Lord, had even so much as owled him. He'd never felt so alone.

He turned his wand on himself and turned his wish for death into a reality.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he was being rudely re-awoken, feeling as though his heart were going to erupt out of his chest. He gasped for air, his lung burning, and stared up into Minerva's wide, stricken eyes. As soon as she realized he would make it, she began to curse in that thick, Scottish brogue of hers. He'd never heard her utter a profanity in all this time together. Not once.

She called him gutless and stupid – the former he was accused of rather often, but the latter never. It cut him to the quick, and he recovered in his quarters, tended only by her. She missed Christmas with her family all because she'd chosen to check in on him on Christmas Eve.

He'd wanted to apologize, but as time passed, the thought of doing so became fainter. The 'sorry' he'd always longed to mutter lodged in his throat and festered there, like a pearl.

As much as she complained, though, she seemed to understand. It was mid-January when their mid-tea conversation came to an awkward halt, and he gave her a desperate, searching look, and she'd sighed. "Please don't worry about it, Severus. You'll owe me one," she offered, a bit sarcastically, and he'd chuckled darkly. The thought of her trying to commit suicide seemed about as likely as her flying to the moon.

Imagine his surprise, a full quarter-century later, when she finally pulled that favor out of thin air and said, "You _will_ take Hermione Granger on as your apprentice, or Merlin help me, Severus, you're going to spend the rest of your life regretting crossing me."

And so he did.

* * *

 **Quotes: N/A**


	26. Umbridge & Marietta Edgecombe

**Prompt: Umbridge & Marietta Edgecombe**

 _Actually, the prompt was Umbridge + Author's Choice and I chose Marietta!_

* * *

The pink-clad woman drifted in front of her, where she sat, her fists clenched against her knees. Marietta was staring at some fixed point, too stricken with terror to chance a glance at Umbridge's face.

"You don't have a father. Isn't that right?" came the woman's sweet voice.

There were daggers hidden in that sweetness – as if Dolores Umbridge thought that if she said something awful in a nice enough tone, it wouldn't be awful anymore. Or maybe she knew exactly how terrible it was. Maybe it _amused_ her to cloak such venom in honey. "He's sick," Marietta said, stiffly. She couldn't afford to let the grief overwhelm her; not right now. Her father didn't have long for this world, according to the Healers.

Umbridge made a tsking noise of sympathy. "Your poor mother. She must work so hard to keep you in school, mustn't she? These textbooks aren't cheap. And St. Mungo's doesn't run too cheaply, either, from what I remember…"

Ice crawled down Marietta's spine.

"She works for the Ministry, isn't that right?" Umbridge asked, as though she didn't already know. "I mean, if it did happen to come about that her own daughter was subverting school authority, I just can't imagine what her Department Head would _think_ of her."

She was trembling under the weight of the threat. Cho's face flashed through her mind, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. _You won't tell anyone, will you?_

She hadn't wanted to make that promise.

But Cho was her best friend. The bitter taste of bile crawled up the back of her throat, boiling into resentment. What kind of a friend would make her promise that? Would make her run the risk of threatening her family's _livelihood_?

Desperation forced the words from her throat in a frenzied rush. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want to!" she exclaimed, her eyes suddenly brimming with unshed, frustrated tears.

"Didn't want to _what_ , my dear?" Umbridge cooed.

Marietta felt sobs bubble up her throat and gave into them. The weight of her father's illness and her mother's perpetually-exhausted face was suddenly too heavy on her, and she collapsed in her chair, burying her face in her hands. It was so _easy_ to be brave when everything else in your life was fine. She was suddenly overcome with a raging, jealous _hatred_ of her fresh-faced classmates, who looked so hopeful under Harry Potter's tutelage.

She'd tried to feel a measure of that hope, but it eluded her, always. She felt Umbridge's hand on her shoulder, her cooing, honey-sweet tone in her ear. "Hey, I'm with you," she assured the weeping girl, a smile stretching across her face. It was almost too easy to pick out the weak ones. " _Always_."

* * *

 **Quotes: "I'm with you. Always."**


	27. Pansy & Luna

**Prompt: Pansy & Luna  
**

* * *

"Hey, it's Looney Lovegood," came a sneering voice from her right. Luna turned, a faint smile on her face. Adrian Pucey – in an earlier year than her, and in Slytherin.

Her smile widened a bit when she recognized him. "Hello, Adrian," she said, pleasantly. Pucey looked at his mate and shared an eyeroll. "How are you?"

"Well, I'm not churning out mad ramblings with _my_ father, so I suppose better than you," he scoffed, with a mocking smile. "How are things at the _Quibbler_? Still chasing that Horny Sack?" He jabbed an elbow into his buddy's ribs, laughing.

"That's Crumple-Horned Snorkack, actually," came a cool, feminine voice from behind Luna. Pansy fell into line beside the blonde, lifting a perfectly manicured finger and dipping her sunglasses down her nose a bit to regard him. "The only 'horny sack' I see here is the pathetic pile of grease in front of me."

He blinked, drawing back a bit as his eyes flicked over her form. She looked, in a word, _polished._ Pansy had taken to high fashion like a duck to water, and if she knew that she made Luna look all the more ridiculous by standing next to her, she certainly didn't acknowledge it. Adrian swallowed a bit, pulling his expression back into something more polite. "How's it going, Parkinson?"

"Oh, you know, it's just an endless parade of idiocy," she exhaled, rolling her eyes and pushing her sunglasses back into place. "Well, I mean, of course _you_ know. Head of the drum-line, are you?"

Adrian sneered. "Sorry, didn't realize you were friends with ol' Looney, here."

Pansy chuckled, casually drawing her wand as she flicked her wrist at the two of them. "That's Ms. Lovegood, to you. Unless you want a repeat of that _nasty_ little incident when you were in sixth year?" Her eyes flicked to his friend as Adrian paled. "Tell me, is that _still_ your most closely guarded secret?"

She canted her head and summoned a saccharine smile as Adrian glared at her. He grabbed his friend by the elbow, pulling him roughly around. "Let's get out of here," he growled, shooting Pansy one last seething look.

"It was nice seeing you, Adrian," Luna said, cheerfully.

Pansy sighed, stowing her wand away. "Don't gift him with your voice," she muttered, the sweetness falling out of her tone as Adrian and his little lackey disappeared. "Pukeballs like that don't deserve the energy it takes to tell them to shove the fuck off."

"You said you were going to try to get less angry," Luna reminded her, although as usual, there was nothing resembling judgment in her tone. "Or else–"

"The Nargles, I know," Pansy said, but there was no hint of mockery, there, either. She smiled, and leaned in to press her lips against the blonde's, her hand settling on Luna's shoulder. "But I can hardly help it when people insist on bothering you, now can I? And you seem so eager to let them, an outlook I will spend the _rest_ of my life failing to understand."

Luna shook her head, and leaned in to press another quick peck against Pansy's lips, reassuring and sweet. "You and Draco should really work on being less protective. I'm more than able to handle myself."

"Oh, of _that_ , I've no doubt," Pansy drawled. "Let's get going. _Amazingly_ , Pucey didn't rob me of my appetite and I'm still famished."

"I love you," Luna said, brightly.

Pansy scowled, looking around the street with a faint twist of her lips, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "Don't make me say it out here," she muttered, ushering Luna along the street. Kissing and other public displays of indecency were right up her alley, but she drew the line at tender, emotional stuff. Hell, she had to draw the line _somewhere_ , and Luna was just lucky it wasn't at Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

"It's alright. I know you do."

* * *

 **Quotes: None in prompt!**


End file.
